Luck of the Draw
by Ryuusui
Summary: .series of semi-connected one-shots. Casinos don't necessarily like to lose half a million dollars to one man on one night. .AU. .luxord, xigbar.
1. Chapter 1

After waking up from his forcibly induced sleep, Luxord's first coherent thought is that maybe he should have departed earlier. At this point, his bruised brain is willing to admit that winning has become an addiction. Of course, that shouldn't be the problem. The real problem, however, is the reason why his realized addiction _isn't_ the real problem. The _real_ problem is that he doesn't lose. Okay, that's never exactly been _his_ problem. It's everyone else who seems to take offense at his particular brand of luck. And, he supposes that that makes it his problem -- or at least as much of a problem as a gunshot to the back of the head could cause.

So, logically, the thought that immediately follows is that gun barrels have no right to be this cold in a room this hot.

"Man, I'm askin' you one last time. You haveta be cheating. I just wanna know how."

"I don't believe I understand." Right, just play it dumb in the hope that this crony just, you know, loses interest. It's a fool's hope, however. A five hundred thousand dollar loss is a lot to swallow for any casino owner, and Xemnas has never been known to let money just waltz out the door. It's beginning to look like Luxord's luck won't be holding out.

The man with the gun laughs. "You're kidding me, do I have to spell it out for you? No one's that lucky. Everyone knows the whole fucking set-up is rigged. The house has to make money. We're not some fucking charity, you know. We're a business. Sometimes someone hits it big, and we swallow the loss knowing they beat the odds. But when some punkass foreigner decides to show up and cheat his way to half a million, we have a problem." There's hot breath on his neck, and he can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine, or the flutter in his chest. "One more time, Brit-dude. How do you do it?"

Luxord swallows hard. The blindfold is beginning to make him feel claustrophobic. "What if I told you it's fate?"

"Fate?" Another laugh. "You gotta come up with something better than that, or you'll find out it's your _fate_ to get a bullet in your skull." The gun barrel's gone now, but its owner is still in the room. Footsteps echo off the tile walls, and end up in front of him. "Let's try something else." And suddenly the blindfold is gone, and there's a blurry face right in front of his own. "What's your name?"

He considers the question, and the consequences of not answering it. "Luxord."

"No last name, eh? I like that. I'm Xigbar. Now that we've been _properly_ introduced, I don't feel quite so bad about this." A flare of pain dances across his face, and it feels as though a couple of his teeth have been knocked loose. The taste of copper is faint, but definitely there. "You have anything else to say about fate?"

Luxord raises his eyes to meet Xigbar's. "Not particularly, no." The man is much older than him, with a scar running down one side of his face. He's also missing one of his eyes, or so Luxord assumes, considering the other man is wearing an eyepatch. The remaining eye is the most peculiar color he's ever seen -- gold. Either this hasn't been his life's work, or the man has gotten into a lot of fights in his lifetime. Generally one didn't get scars when they were the ones inflicting them upon hapless victims, like himself.

"Good. Now, come on. I'm getting tired of his game. Just tell me how you do it, so I can tell Xemnas, so he can tell me whether or not to kill you. Personally, man, I hope he lets you go. But, understand, it's not my decision."

Luxord doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "You don't give me much incentive. Either I tell you, and I live or die at the whim of a madman, with the latter being the more likely. Or I stay silent, and stay alive for at least as long as I am of interest. Not that there's anything to tell."

Xigbar laughs again, and Luxord thinks that if he wasn't already mad, he might be teetering on the edge. "At least you're not an idiot. That raises your chances." And suddenly he's knelt down and is in his face, gold eyes boring into his and all pretense of levity gone. "Maybe you're telling the truth, and you're lucky. But I don't think so. I think you had a plan, and this wasn't part of it, and if you want to live to go rip off another casino, you better tell me how the hell you did this."

"I don't have an answer you'll like."

"Try me."

"Get a die. Bring it here. Let me roll it--"

"I'm not going to play your games. I'm thinking maybe we should've just killed you outright, an' saved me the trouble." Xigbar's angry now, with a frown etched onto his face. "Do you think _I'm_ an idiot? 'Cause if you start this shit now, there'll be no telling what's gonna happen." The controlled language of his captor began to break down as his anger grows. "So stop fucking around, and give me a real answer."

"It's the only answer I have!" Luxord's feeling increasingly endangered. Trust Lady Lucky to give him an unstable man to have to convince. Really, he's not cut out for this shit. "Trust me and if I'm lying you can shoot me now and never have to hear my voice again."

There's a calculating look on the other man's face. He doesn't really trust Luxord, not at all, but this is going nowhere and he knows it. He's holding his gun in loose hands, staring at it vacantly. "All right, man," he says slowly. "But if you're fucking around with me, I'll make you wish you weren't alive. And _then_ you'll face Xemnas. And _then_ you'll be dead."

And suddenly Luxord is faced with the sardonic grin that Xigbar's plastered on his face. "I'm not, as you say, fucking around," he says with a matching grin of his own, finally in control of his situation.

"I hope not. I _really_ don't want to kill you." Xigbar traces his cheekbone with the revolver before leaning in to whisper in Luxord's ear. "You're too fucking pretty." And then he's up and half-way across the room, almost at the door before he turns around and winks at him. "I'll be back, Luxy."

As the door closes, Luxord's fighting to keep his grin from splitting his face. Fate, luck, what have you, seems to have been smiling on him once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Really, when he'd first learned of the vice men call "gambling," he thought it a game for poor men to wile away their hopes. Gambling inherently requires that one be risking something of some value in order to win something of equal, or more likely greater, value. Risk is the key factor, the essential element. It is what turns a hobby into an addiction. It is what gets blood pumping and palms sweating. It is why men keep coming back to put it all on the line, in the hope of winning a better future. There can be no business or revenue stream without calculating this risk, and turning it in favor of the institution. In a casino, there are no odds in your favor. Every machine, every die, every dealer is out to get you.

Luxord is the exception. What Luxord does can not be considered gambling because he is not risking anything. He operates with the full certainty that he will win his wager and collect his money and be on his merry way. This attitude has never failed him, not since he was a child in the shipyard, playing for enough money to go buy bread for his mother. Luxord simply does not lose, and this fact is something that perplexes and infuriates all the casino execs. in the New England area.

Statistically, his luck can not hold. It would be like overcoming all odds and winning the lottery three times in a row. (Not to say he hasn't done that -- just never in the same state.) If it were to fail him right now, it wouldn't be as though he hasn't had a good run of it. No, instead Xigbar will look at him as though he were an idiot, and a lying idiot at that, and oh, that's right, he'd die for his trouble.

Yes, sometimes his good fortune is a burden.

If he were to ever to say he was a gambling man, which, god forbid, he wouldn't (what a tacky, cliched title), it would be this moment that defines him as such. This time it is not merely money, but his life that hangs in the balance.

He cradles his wrists as soon as they are unbound, and winces at the chafe marks the ropes have made. "I don't suppose you had access to anything less abrasive on the skin," he questions nonchalantly, as if this man did not have a gun and certainly hadn't threatened to kill him, say, about five minutes ago.

"You're one funny dude. Let's see if I'm still laughing, and you're still alive, after you show me this little trick of yours."

Trust Xigbar to remind him of his perilous situation. "Indeed, we shall," he says with his most congenial grin. He takes the pair of dice Xigbar has been holding out for him since he's gotten up out of his, exceedingly uncomfortable, metal chair, and kisses them. They are casino quality, weighed exactly to the micro-ounce and perfectly even on every side. They are the greatest symbol of chance, the representation of an opportunity just waiting to be seized.

Luxord has never been so poetic. Perhaps it's the impending doom in the air.

"How would you like to do this, Luxy? I call out numbers, you roll the dice? Please, enlighten me so that I may fully appreciate the breadth of your skill." Xigbar manages a halfway decent interpretation of the Queen's English at the end, accent and all, but it's the sneer on his features that reveals his true skepticism.

"If that is what you wish, I would gladly oblige."

Since Xigbar's return, Luxord has recognized a more intense scrutiny of his person than before. The gunman is looking for any sign that he may be false, for any sign of a cheat on his part. Luxord excels under pressure.

"Fuck man, let's just get this over with. Four."

And so it begins. Lady Luck has not abandoned him this night, this night that means the rest of his life. With every roll, Xigbar's expression becomes increasingly incredulous, while Luxord's confidence grows in leaps and bounds. He is going to live, the dice have foretold it. It is his fate. It is when he rolls three (three seems to be his "lucky" number) pairs of snake-eyes in a row that Xigbar finally snaps.

"I fucking give up. They don't fucking pay me enough to comprehend this... this... whatever the fuck this is." He turns his gaze from the dice on the floor to their handler, their master, whatever Luxord can be called because nothing about this is natural. "You're unreal, man, and I don't fucking understand what the fuck is going on, but this is unreal and I'm this close to freakin' out so excuse me if I just stare at the floor for awhile."

Thirty whole seconds pass before Xigbar speaks again. "Is this, like, some sort of voodoo magic?"

That manages to tear a laugh from the back of Luxord's throat and, finally, the tension dissipates from the room and Luxord can, finally, be assured that he will continue living. At least if Xigbar has anything to say about it. "I assure you, this is no magic that I am aware of. What I told you earlier is what I believe. This is fate."

"An' this, me almost killin' you, and you... and you... this is fate?" He laughs. "We are too small for fate, man, not to kill your ego or anythin'." But Xigbar's tone doesn't match his oddly colored eyes. He's a man presented with something he isn't quite sure he believes, or want to believes. Luxord knows this feeling very well.

"All of our lives are ordained by fate, even the most mundane and trivial occurrences contribute to the grand play our existence has been." Luxord expects more silence from the man across the room.

But Xigbar bounces back quickly. Instead of thinking on it too deeply, it appears he has simply accepted what he's seen as reality, at least until he has the time and space to truly contemplate the governing laws of the universe (or at least the law of probability) Luxord's presence just demolished. For now, seeing is believing, and Xigbar's gold eyes alight with something far different from confusion.

"I knew you were more than just a pretty face, Luxy," he says, and the glint turns predatory. "There's somethin' up there after all." With the grace of a man half his age, Xigbar has suddenly appeared right behind him, and is pressing his hands into Luxord's shoulders. "Don't go quotin' me to everyone, but I think Xemnas is goin' to be very interested in what you have to offer us." The words ghost over his shoulder, Xigbar's hot breath in sharp contrast to the chill of the air. "'Least, if _you're_ interested in what _we_ have to offer you." He stresses the "we" with a squeeze to Luxord's shoulders before he is gone again, as though he can teleport or something equally ridiculous.

Luxord has to pay an inordinate amount of attention to standing straight, as his knees are quickly becoming too shaky to support him. He draws in a shaky breath before responding. "I'm not going anywhere."

Xigbar grins widely. "Good."

- -

AN: I'm trying to refrain from unnecessary author's notes, but I think this one is required. Chapter 1 has been edited/revised so that it flows better. I don't have a beta, so I revise as I go along. Also, I hope this chapter isn't too different, like, in a jarring way, from the last chapter. These first two chapters are sort of like an introduction to the universe I've created. The following stories will be more stand-aloneish. And as one last note, I'd like to thank my only reviewer, FinalFallenFantasy. Seriously, your review got me working on this chapter.


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